


We Remained

by Croik



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Shippy Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21896410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/pseuds/Croik
Summary: Gilbert always knew he would die alone. Heknewit. He was wrong.
Relationships: Gilbert/The Hunter (Bloodborne)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 95
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	We Remained

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Razia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razia/gifts).



Gilbert had always known he would die alone. The nature of his condition was such that others were wise to keep their distance, and he had never entertained many acquaintances to begin with. Even his closest relations had given little in the way of farewells as he made his journey down from the highlands in search of healing. He hadn’t expected a warm welcome in Yharnam, either, so he could not say he was disappointed with their apathy toward him. Dear Iosefka’s curiosity for healing blood in the veins of a far-removed outsider afforded him treatment enough to survive past his original prognosis, but he realized soon enough that it would not be enough to save him. He was destined to die in a faraway place where even strangers held him at bay.

But as Gilbert drew the sweaty sheets up to his ears, he had to admit that he had never suspected he would be as alone as _this_. All through the night he had listened to the familiar sounds of the hunt echoing along Yharnam’s streets: gangs of townspeople shouting instructions to each other as they surrounded each beast; the growls and cries of the beasts themselves shifting from wrath into pitiful terror; even the music and laughter from rich homes passing the evening’s horrors with drink and merriment. As the night grew colder and darker, each was snuffed out, one by one.

There was almost silence, now. The hunt had passed with no victory to celebrate. There were no hunters returning, weary, to home and hearth. The lanterns burned out and the music ceased. Even the surviving beasts had moved on in search of fresher prey, taking the tapping of their claws on the cobblestones with them. As far as Gilbert could tell, every resident of the once bustling town was changed, or dead, or both. Except for him.

Gilbert curled in on himself, coughing and wheezing. His voice alone broke the terrible silence; it frightened him more than the numbness creeping into his limbs to think that no one still lived to hear it. His neighbors, whom he had never known the names of nor volunteered his own to, had each gone silent, then descended to howling madness, then gone silent again. He was too frightened of joining that fate to mourn them, and he shuddered with his hands clasped together, praying for death.

He wondered of the strange outsider who had stood at his window. Surely they were dead by now, and with them, the last person he had spoken to. Did that make those few words they’d shared his last? At least that was a comfort, even if his well-meant advice might have led the traveler to their doom.

“Farewell, stranger,” Gilbert murmured, and his voice sounded like a growl to his own ears. “I hope your death was a swift one.”

“Gilbert?”

He startled. Though his sight had finally failed him he turned toward his window and heard, just faintly over his own labored breath, someone tapping on the glass. It took him a few tries to gather the strength to speak. “Hello? Is someone there?”

“Gilbert,” said a familiar voice, and unexpected tears of relief welled in Gilbert’s eyes. It was the foreign hunter after all, alive and at least human enough to remember his name. The thought brought him greater joy than he had felt in months. “Are you still alive in there?”

“Yes,” Gilbert rushed to answer, though his lungs then closed with gummy fluid, and he had to stop with a choking cough. He was so fearful that the hunter might not have heard him that his efforts to expel the blockage as quickly as possible only made it worse; he doubled in on himself, gripping his chest as he gagged. He tasted blood.

“Yes,” Gilbert said again as soon as he was able. “Yes, I’m still here...for a little while, at least.” He pressed his palm flat to the glass, as if that would bring him at least a little closer to the last living human in Yharnam. “Did you...find what you need?”

“I might have,” said the hunter. “Can I come inside?”

Gilbert tensed with fresh panic. Eagerness and fear clenched against each other in his chest and he had no idea how to answer. “I’m ill,” he said. “You’d be exposed.”

“Nothing in this hell-city has killed me yet,” said the hunter, a tilt in the words that sounded slightly manic. “I doubt anything of yours can do worse.”

Gilbert’s heart gave a thud, and he could not deny his final, selfish desire, saying, “Then please, you’re very welcome.” He pawed along the edge of the window sill only to remember that the bars beyond would prevent the hunter from entering even if he did have the strength to open it. “I’m sorry--I don’t know that I can walk to the door…”

“I’ll find a way in.”

Gilbert struggled to turn himself about, fighting with his sheets in the process. Despite confessing the truth moments ago he crawled to the edge of the bed and put his feet to the floor. He knew in his heart that his legs would not hold him, yet still he made the attempt--for the sake of one more living soul, he had to try. 

His knees gave out the moment they were asked to bear weight, and he tumbled to the ground. His bones rattled and his lungs heaved, but he dug his trembling fingers into the old wood and dragged himself forward. He needed to not be alone, even just for a few moments, before his end finally claimed him.

There came a heavy thud, and then a loud splintering of wood. Footsteps crossed the threshold, and Gilbert had the strange thought that he wished he had something to offer his first guest in so long. A cup of tea. A local delicacy. A welcoming smile and an open ear, which he himself had ached for.

The hunter knelt beside Gilbert and gathered him up in sturdy arms. They stank of blood and matted fur and steel, and their voice was low and eager. “Gilbert, I’m glad you’re safe. I didn’t think anyone else still lived.”

“I don’t know...that anyone else does,” Gilbert replied, twisting his fingers in the hunter’s blood-slick coat. Even though he burned with fever, the warmth of another human body close to his was a very welcome comfort. If only his eyes hadn’t already failed him. “I’m glad...very glad you’re alive, as well. It must be...tragic, out there.”

“That it is,” the hunter agreed. “Better that you’ve stayed in here. It will be morning, soon.”

“Morning…” Gilbert smiled weakly at the thought. “I fear I may not live even that long, but...will you stay with me?” He shuddered, ashamed of his selfishness. “It won’t be long, and I...I don’t wish to be alone.”

The hunter was very quiet, and very still. Gilbert feared that at any moment they would realize such a request was childish folly and leave for safer company. But they did not. “You said you would consider yourself lucky to die human,” they said. “Have your feelings changed?”

Gilbert’s stomach twisted, and he put his sleeve to his mouth as best he could to protect the hunter from his sickly coughs. “Good hunter, I would rather you put a blade through my heart now than let it change to one of a beast. My mind is...not the sharpest, but it is mine. A life without it would be meaningless to me, and...inconvenience you, in any case.”

“What if I could give you it all?” the hunter pressed, and Gilbert was surprised to hear such desperation focused on him. Who had ever spoken to him as if he were a thing of value and urgency? “Your life, and your heart, and your mind? Though not your humanity.”

“I…” Gilbert prickled with a hopeless curiosity. “I don’t understand.”

“I did not find a cure for my Paleblood,” the hunter continued, and they shifted with a quiet rustle of fabric. “I did, however, find a path forward. For how long, I do not know, but it is _life_ , Gilbert, for both of us, if you’ll trust me.”

The hunter placed something in Gilbert’s hand, and instinctively he curled his fingers around it. Though numbness was creeping into his limbs, he could feel the thing squirm against his palm, warm and wet and...pulsing, just slightly. His heart beat swiftly even as his blood seemed to congeal within weary veins.

It was nothing holy--whatever hopes of healing and redemption Gilbert had carried with him into Yharnam, he knew now that the city held only corruption and death for those that ventured past its gates. This final offering was certain to be his destruction, whatever form that might take. Gilbert cared not at all, not compared to the knowledge that someone was giving it to him. A dying hunter, soaked to the bone in the blood of unimaginable horrors, had remembered his name and returned to him with a gift. 

“Why me?” Gilbert asked. “Is there no one else left?”

“Even if there were, it would still be for you,” the hunter reassured him, and Gilbert swayed, dizzy with gratitude. “It was...your voice. You called out to me with greater kindness than anyone else in this damned city. You offered me solace and advice when all others offered only scorn, and you never asked anything in return. So let me return that favor now.” 

The hunter urged Gilbert to lift his hands, along with the strange, writhing flesh. “Please, Gilbert. Trust me, and we can quit this place together.” The tone in their voice twisted like crooked iron. “If you despise what you become, then I’ll put my blade through your heart like you asked, I promise.”

Gilbert needed no more encouragement than that. He swallowed the stringy meat down, hands clasped over his mouth to keep from vomiting the grotesquerie back up as it squirmed down his throat. In his stomach it twisted and churned, and his already racing heart went _th-thump, th-thump_ with a pounding haste. The blood rushing through every artery seemed to splinter and swirl--could he truly feel every individual cell making its way toward his organs and tissues? His muscles tightened and joints ached, and his lungs gave a great heave that left him on his hands and knees, violently hacking up the last of the bloody mucus that had been slowly drowning him.

And when he regained his wits enough to lift his head, his vision cleared and he could see the bright, piercing eyes of the hunter watching him, their color stained red with vile blood.

Gilbert grew weak with shock even as his limbs flexed with newfound strength. “What have you done?” he asked tremulously.

“I offered myself to the Queen of Cainhurst, and she accepted me,” replied the hunter “Now, _you_ have accepted _her_ too.”

They took Gilbert by his hands and stood; Gilbert followed without conscious thought, captivated by those unholy eyes, and it wasn’t until he was on his feet that he realized his legs now had the courage to hold him. His bare toes curled against the wood and let out a short, choked breath of awe. 

“We will be hunted,” said the hunter, keeping a tight grip on Gilbert’s hands even though he no longer required the assistance. “The Executioners are all dead now, but there will be others. Come with me, Gilbert, and I can protect you.” Their eyes gleamed with fiery defiance of the fate each of them had been offered. “Let me take you home.”

“No,” Gilbert said quickly. “No, that place is no home to me now. Let’s go away.” He took in a breath so deep and so clean it brought tears to his eyes. “Please, take me far away from here.”

The hunter nodded. They spent time enough only that Gilbert could change into fresh clothing and boots fit for travel. He would be soiled in blood fit to match his companion before long, but he yearned for attire that did not reek of sickness. Then they left, two lone specters fleeing through Yharnam’s charred, coppery streets, the first light of dawn at their backs.


End file.
